


Breaking and Entering

by StAnni



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Light Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: “Come here, I’ll tell you.”  he says, quietly – hard and ready to get what he really came for, what the game is really about.  A chance to get closer.  Skin on skin.  No time for arguments.





	Breaking and Entering

Her feet are light on the cheap linoleum of her makeshift kitchen as she slips through the jimmied window. He waits for her, watching her movements like a sleek shadow as she disappears and reappears in the shadows. When she is close enough to see her face, he can see her smile – bemused and expectant. “It’s so weird, you sitting around in dark rooms, dude.” She shakes her head and leans closer to him, dipping down a bit, and her perfume, which she must have stolen somewhere, is flowery but light. He has a hand on his chin, fingers crossing his lips, mostly to stifle an impulsive response, but also to hide his own smile touching the corners of his mouth.  
“How did you get in?” She asks, but she doesn’t ask – she wants to figure it out herself. It is their new game now. 

He keeps his eyes on her as she pulls back slowly, surveying the room. Her apartment is a studio, messy, small and there are gunshot holes in the exposed brick walls. 

They’ve been seeing each other (fucking, as she would put it) for three years and he has asked her to move in with him around eleven times. He gave up within the second year. By the third year, finding out that their time together was rockier than it was smooth, he was glad for their separate accommodations – and these days, it works well, specifically, when they play a round of breaking and entering.

It’s a way of smoothing over the ragged edges as far as possible – after a particularly hurtful fight, a little invasion of privacy seems to get them over the hurdle. The longevity of their relationship, he accepts, is bleak, and both of them being pretty fucked up people, they should probably let whatever it is implode and walk away. They don’t though. Not yet.

He hears her walk around the room behind him, checking the door, the air vent as she goes “How…did…you…do it…?”   
The truth is, is that he had the locks replaced while she was out. Lazy, maybe. But effective.

“Come here, I’ll tell you.” he says, quietly – hard and ready to get what he really came for, what the game is really about. A chance to get closer. Skin on skin. No time for arguments.

Even in the dark he can see the shine in her eyes, the raise of her eyebrows as she shakes her head “Oh, no, no, no. I have to figure it out first…”   
When she does this to him, usually, by this time, she’s already got a hand down his pants. But it’s fine, he lets her trail around a little longer – eyeing the single set of windows with interest.

“No.” He helps and she rolls her eyes at him, leaning against her single table. 

“Were you here before I left?” She asks, eyes dark. And he hadn’t even thought of something like that. Dangerous thing to put in his head. He feels his cock strain. 

“Hiding under your bed?” He asks, voice low – not giving anything away.

She wades closer, for a second, considering him and before she can take a step back again he grabs her arm and pulls her on top of him, the chair scuffing back a bit under the sudden movement. 

She is all warmth and breath and silken curls against his cheek. The perfume that is wafting from her pale skin stings when he opens his mouth against her neck.  
When she moves the leg sliding deeper between his thighs the moment becomes overwhelming and in a surge he takes control, stands up, holding her to him and with one step pushes her down onto her own unmade bed. 

She greedily pushes a hand between them to grasp the hardness of his cock through his slacks. If he was wearing his bat suit the gesture would be futile but her grip is tight and sure and he can’t help but press into it, groaning into her mouth as he does. 

She had been his first in everything. His first kiss. His first heart-break. She had straddled him when they were eighteen, wild and unabashed, and rode him to a blinding orgasm for his first time. With her there had been mistakes, and wounds and unforgivable sins, but always, always first with her. “First and last.” He’d say to her, back when he still had the heart to try and woo her. She’d smirk at him and shake her head. “It doesn’t work that way.” 

Right now, though, they’re still clinging to the ever-crumbling ruins of that love, both of them, grappling to co-exist. These days it is only these flashes of pure carnal desire that truly solidifies them – even if it is only for a few days, moments, seconds.

They have a rhythm, a familiar dance and as she loosens his belt buckle he tugs her leggings down. The clink of the belt on the floor and the sound of the zipper sliding down before she brings him out, heavy in her warm hand, is extra-sensory – so practiced and perfected that it feels as if he can feel his own girth as her palm slides around him, that he can feel the hitch in her breath as she pushes his thickness down, the slick tip of his cock kissing against the wet lips between her thighs. He pushes up and forward without any delay and as she envelops him, as he pushes up until his balls are firmly against the cool slick press of her cunt, her neck falls back – flowers.  
He has had her in every room of his house. He has had her on rooftops and pressed up against the walls of tunnels. He has had her here, on the floor, bent over the table, against the door that nearly broke with his thrusts. He has spilled himself inside of her, and only inside of her, what feels like hundreds of times. First and last. First and last.

She presses up against him as he starts their familiar motion, keeping close and moving deep. It doesn’t take long for her to come the first time and the warmth of her breath, shakily , on his chest constricts around his heart and he pushes down, holding her, as he chases his own release in an unrelenting pace. The crumpled blanket having fallen to the floor they are a thrusting tangle of naked limbs, sweat and muffled curses as he shutters forward one final time – releasing himself inside of her, again.  
And then its over. The game. The closeness. And she rolls away, slick and breathless – leaving a warm spot on the mattress. She turns to him as she pulls on a t-shirt she finds on the floor. “Seriously. How did you get inside?” She asks, smirking over her shoulder. The distance swoops and grows and he feels his own doors shut in succession. He shrugs, sitting up himself, reaching for his slacks on the floor. “Replaced the locks. Told the locksmith I’m your husband.” He says and she doesn’t look at him but he can feel the slight shake of the bed with her laugh. 

“That’s fucked up, man.”


End file.
